Ethnic Avenue – The Street That Crosses All the Others

Archive for the ‘Ethnic Reviews’ Category

One of my favorite horror-movie characters of all-time is Freddy Krueger. Now, I’m not a huge fan of horror movies in general–since shit’s scary enough already–but as horror characters go, Freddy’s the one, hands down. And I don’t think I’m alone. Actually, I think he’s quite popular among ethnic people. Even the Fresh Prince made a song about him once upon a time.

I think there’s a couple of reasons for this.

First of all, we like that Freddy Krueger is ambiguously ethnic—or at least blue collar. How do we know that? Because he was always chasing white girls–and look at his name. I know what you’re going to say: “c’mon dude, Krueger is obviously a European surname.” But doesn’t that first name make you feel like he might be half-something? I’ve never known anyone named “Freddy” who wasn’t actually an Alfredo or Francisco on his birth certificate. And, you know Freddy didn’t come from means. Before he got burned by the neighborhood parents, he was the poor kid on the block. Krueger is the underdog-getting-his-sweet-revenge in all of us.

Then there’s the way that Freddy Krueger does his thing. As Tommy Davidson hilariously pointed out back in the day, Freddy knew how to make grisly over-kills funny, at least for himself. He got into it. He had a good time.

But like all good things, there’s always someone there ready to fuck it up. And, like with many things these days, the way to do that is to try to squeeze a few more shekels out of it by remaking it. Nightmare on Elm Street (2010) opens tonight and already the reviews are in. The first one I read gave it a half-star out of four. Half.

Freddy Krueger used to be such a fun guy.

Sure, he wore a ratty sweater, had a complexion like a blister-covered relief map, repeatedly invaded people’s dreams, then shoved his deadly finger knives into their torsos. But he had such a sense of humor about the whole thing.

Unfortunately, in the remake…good ol’ Fred loses any sense of playful shock he once possessed and turns into a generic figure meticulously manufactured to simultaneously gross and freak us out. It doesn’t work.

That sucks. The one thing that made Freddy different was his gusto, his style. Next thing you know, they’re going to make him not ethnic anymore—and wealthy.

I’ve intentionally remained silent on the whole Tiger Woods affair because the fact that he liked white girls named Jamie and Escalades was the most extraordinarily non-surprising news in the universe.

Even as the thing unfolded, and a few things did raise my eyebrow—like the sheer number of mistresses and level of cheapness of the girls—nothing happened that I really didn’t expect. He did the self-flagellation apology tour, more sordid details trickled in (like the text messages), and he signed up for rehab camp–all pretty standard public-infidelity-scandal stuff.

But, finally, some stuff has come out that I didn’t expect:

The women paint Woods as being sexually insatiable as well as extraordinarily cheap…[Mindy] Lawton said he once bought her a Subway chicken-wrap sandwich. [Jamie] Jungers told [Vanity Fair contributing editor Mark] Seal one of the reasons she broke off her affair with Woods was because he refused to help her when she needed financial assistance.

Now, Tiger, that’s disappointing.

All of this, in aggregate, is starting to paint a disturbing picture. You can explain away the cheap-girl thing, by itself, pretty easily—and people have. “Well, if you’re used to having steak all the time, you might crave a Happy Meal here and there,” or, “He went for the low-hanging fruit,” or, “Maybe he just likes that cheap-skank look, recreationally.” Sure, those things are all possible. But the also-patronizing-Subway tells me that Tiger Woods lived two double-lives–not just the one with the wife at home and the harem of cocktail waitresses on the road–but also one of public fanciness and private ghetto-ness.

Get anything on the menu, baby.

Anyone that knows me well knows that I absolutely loathe Subway sandwiches—and with good reason. Subway sandwiches are what I call “condiment sandwiches,” that is, sandwiches that taste mostly like whatever condiments you put on them. The meat, bread, and cheese are really sort of irrelevant, merely conduits for the toppings. Next time you eat at Subway(and I hope that you don’t), order a sandwich with no mayonnaise, no mustard, and no pepperoncinis (a big culprit). That shit will taste like virtually nothing. That applies to nearly all of the cold sandwiches.

The hot sandwiches are a different story, but not any better. What they do is make bad replicas of real hot sandwiches in a microwave. It’s like when you made food out of your Play-Doh as a kid. It may have looked like spaghetti and meatballs, and you could eat it, but it tasted like salty paste (I was told).

You can’t make a real cheesesteak sandwich in a microwave. Period. But that doesn’t stop Subway from trying. That’s like baking a cake in the microwave. You could probably eat it, but it’s going to taste like shit.

I already know what some Subway apologists are going to say: “lately, they’ve incorporated one of those conveyer-belt ovens into their arsenal. The sell toasted sandwiches.” And, while that improves the melting-the-cheese problem, it still doesn’t produce a top-shelf hot sandwich. Heat isn’t the only requirement for a hot sandwich.

Then there’s the whole “fresh-baked bread” gimmick. If you’re ever been around a real bakery, you know that the smell that wafts from Subways’ ovens doesn’t really resemble the smell of real bread baking. Subway baking smells like someone is roasting a beaker of chemicals in the oven. Go and smell and you’ll never think of it the same.

So, when I learned that Tiger Woods takes his mistresses to Subway, I asked myself one key question: does he eat there? If he does, we know what kind of man he is: one that likes taking it low-brow and nasty when no one is looking. All he needs is basic cable, the first woman he sees at the bar, and a five-dollar footlong.

Shame on you Tiger. You’re disgusting.

There’s an old Saturday Night Live sketch where David Spade reviews then-current movies. He’d start many of his reviews, in his typical dead-pan tone, with something like:

x the Movie. I liked this movie. . .when it was called y the Movie.¹

¹Where x represents a newer movie, and y represents an older, usually better, movie.

That’s a little how I felt about Avatar, the long-awaited fantasy blockbuster from James Cameron and them. I liked it: when it was called Pocahontas, the Lion King, and Warcraft the game. But, of course, there’s more to the movie than its uncanny resemblance to a live-action FernGully—including some deliciously obvious racial overtones.

We've been needing a White Guy around here.

Since the reviews are pretty much in by now, we know how it’s played on Main Street. But how did it play on Ethnic Avenue? I’ll break it down for you.

Visually, But Not Aurally, Striking

I’ll get this one out of the way, since that’s what everyone is focusing on anyway.

I can’t deny the obvious. There were tons of bells and whistles to this movie. Realistic Smurf-Thundercat hybrid creatures; unusually aggressive, and realistic, alien wildlife; colorful, iridescent foliage; the list goes on.

I saw it in 3-D because that was supposed to “enhance” the experience (though the most you actually get is a blurred 2.5-D, from the thin, even layer of someone else’s face grease spread out over the 3-D goggle lenses).

I became suspicious when I learned that it was available in 3-D, since a good movie ought to be good even you’re watching it on one of those VCR-sized black-and-white combination radio-televisions from the 70s. In other words, it’s a good thing it had the strong visuals, because compelling dialog and an original story were obviously not the focus. After all, good conversation doesn’t put asses in the seats. What does, apparently, is having the option of listening to your iPod the whole time and still getting 90 percent of the story.

So don’t be surprised when we go back to the silent-movie era, with a movie with no dialogue running up front and an old guy playing piano in the back. Except, this second-time around, it’ll be a special effects bonanza on the screen, with a hipster DJ “spinning” records on his MAC laptop.

You heard it here first.

Environmentally Sound (Recycled) Storyline

A strange thing about watching this movie was the nagging suspicion–reoccurring every few scenes–that you’d heard or seen this story before. Then, about half way through the movie, you realize Avatar is a cleverly woven quilt-work of older stories. It’s not a bad idea, actually. Instead of another single remake, why not remake several movies at once? That’s surely better. Some examples:

Pocahontas – Native princess meets the white interloper; takes him to the village to meet her father, the chief (Powhatan); the natives generously spare his life , and he adopts their way.

Warcraft II the Game – Elven archers, flying dragon-like creatures; this was every awkward gaming nerd’s dream come true.

The Lion King – Collective African-like chanting rituals at the “tree of life.”

White People Save Dumb-Ass Natives (Again)

I can speak from experience that I would be totally lost if it weren’t for the periodic, intrepid White guy coming into my life and saving me from my own noble, but foolhardy, ways.

Helping Dumb Natives, Since Colonial Times

Let’s face it: ethnic people throughout history have needed help from White people with modernizing their lives and learning how to enjoy the finer things.

The problem is that they brag about it in movies way too often. They could have stopped at Dance with Wolves and I’d still remember how much we owe them.

Avatar has an acute case of white-people-save-the-day-itis. Here’s an abbreviated list of the accomplishments a single character introduced as being kind of dumb (and handicapped), but White, was able to accomplish during the course of the story.

• Convincing the chiefs to spare his life
• Learning the language lickety-split
• Learning the ways of The People within three months
• Stealing the main warrior’s bride-to-be and then punking him in front of everyone
  
• Taming the untamable gigantic dragon creature–something only five other people in history have managed–in one fell swoop
  
• Communicating directly with the deity
• Convincing the deity to “take sides,” something it never does
• Saving the entire planet Pandora

Thanks again, White people.

Another interesting aspect to this story was the intentionally ambiguous ethnicity of the Na’vi (the natives). Like the patchwork storyline, the ethnicity of the natives was a skillful blend of Native American Indians, Africans tribes people, and blue Thundercats.

Names (Obviously) Culled from a Quick Internet Search

One of the challenges to suspending my disbelief throughout the movie was the eerily familiar (and somewhat lame) naming of things.

At times, it seemed like after the seven years of working on all of the visuals, the creative team got tired when it came to naming everything. Pandora, Avatar? It sounded more like my browsing history than a fantastical new world.

If you haven’t already heard, everyone’s favorite in-and-out-jail relative—Uncle Pennybags—is coming to the big screen. That’s right, Monopoly—the board game—is becoming a movie.

Apparently, the raid of a 1980s-kid’s room for movie ideas (GI Joe, Transformers) isn’t over. Instead, it’s moved from the toy box to the top shelf of the hall closet (the family-fun-night section). Rumor has it that movies based on Candyland, Risk, and Battleship are also in the works.

I just won second prize in a beauty contest. What have you accomplished lately?

I sort of doubt that these movies will accurately represent the board games on which they’re based. If that were the case, you’d walk out of the Monopoly movie six to eight hours after you entered, regretting you could never recover that time, and stealthily emptying your pockets of the $500 bills you embezzled while you were “the bank.”

So, even before the thing gets made, I already know where I’ll be on opening night: at my humble green house on Baltic Avenue, mourning creativity’s long march to the gas chamber. Rest in peace my old friend.

Maybe I copied this idea from somewhere else–I don’t know–but this is the premier, collectors’ edition issue of Ethnic Avenue’s series R.I.P. Creativity: A Slow, Public Death. If you’re a nerd, put it in a cellophane sleeve and find a safe place for it in your mom’s house—you may be able to pocket a nice profit on eBay in a few years.

It’s hardly a secret anymore that creativity, by any objective measure, has gone completely to shit in recent years. If you haven’t taken the time to notice—between watching (the sometimes multiple) remakes of Transformers, the Hulk, King Kong, GI Joe, Knight Rider, Battlestar Gallactica, and countless others—you’re part of the problem. But, there’s so much biting going on these days, that no one single person could possibly catalog it. Even Wyclef Jean, the former emperor of stealing other people’s good ideas, is floating face-down in the sea of cheap imitations.

What do you mean you remember us from the 80s? We just landed.

The latest nail in the creative coffin is the remake of V, a science-fiction mini-series that, from my foggy recollection of the re-runs, was alright at best. Sometimes I wonder if some studio exec woke up Rip-Van-Winkle-style, after 25 years, with an issue of TV Guide from the 80s resting on his chest. Thinking it was some revelation from above; he merely took all of the descriptions to work and started making them again.

That’s the only reasonable explanation.

The no-holds-barred contest for who can best dupe the American public has intensified in recent years. Since we’re getting dumber by minute, the fight isn’t even fair anymore. They’re hitting us from all sides.

The newest entry in the long list of lame-marketing-gimmicks-that-actually-work goes by the name of “table-side guacamole,” the pride of a restaurant chain that goes by the name of Rosa Mexicano (coming to a major city near you).

The premise is simple. Scattered throughout the dining room is a series of wooden carts with a medley of the ingredients in typical guacamole: cilantro, onion, salt, chilies, and, of course, avocados. Before you even settle your full weight onto your ass cheeks, they ask you if you’ve “been here before.” If you make the mistake of saying no, they proceed to tell you about their house specialty—guacamole “made fresh, right before your eyes.”

Would you like your ingredients all served separately?

In exchange for $12, someone will wheel one of the carts to your table, mash a couple of avocados into a bowl and mix together a fresh batch of guacamole. When try it, you’ll immediately realize that this doesn’t taste like any guacamole you’ve had before (unfortunately, not in a good way). You’ll feel like you’re eating cilantro, onion, salt, chilies, and, of course, avocados–but each separately.

Like anyone that’s ever looked at a cookbook in their life can tell you, it’s essential to let the flavors in guacamole–or any other condiment, soup, or meat dish–meld. To brag that you make your guacamole fresh at the table is like bragging that you serve all of your food cold.